


Ink-Stained Skin

by LadySlytherin



Series: Soul-Match Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, I don't even know how to tag this, Implied/Referenced Sex, Licking, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steter Week, Steter Week 2019, soulmark reveals?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 18:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Stiles and Peter want to see each other's Soul-Marks.It goes better than either of them would have guessed, if they'd been asked even an hour earlier.





	Ink-Stained Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Physalis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Physalis/gifts).

> So, I got a comment on _Fate, Names, and Other Things You Can Change_ that got me thinking about how Peter and Stiles respond once they finally see each other's Soul-Marks. So, I elected to write this little thing. Consider it a piece for Steter Week, just because, but also know that this is why you should always leave comments on things you like. You never know when you might inspire the author to create a little something more!
> 
> ~ Sly

“Can I see it?” Stiles asked, and the curiosity thrumming through him was making him a little twitchy; a little restless. They’d separated from Allison and Scott on the sidewalk and gone back to Peter’s apartment, and now he couldn't help but ask.

Couldn't imagine _not_ asking.

Peter nodded, then slowly undid the button on his jeans. Stiles' eyes were riveted on the beta’s hands, watching with giddy eagerness as Peter lowered the zipper, the quiet _hiss_ of metal teeth releasing seeming impossibly loud. He swallowed hard as Peter turned a little to one side, even as he shoved his jeans down until they pooled at his ankles.

Part of Stiles’ mind was categorizing things he hadn't gotten to, the night he and Peter had been _together_ at the lakehouse. Like the muscles in Peter’s legs, which looked just as strong as the rest of him. _‘I guess somebody doesn’t skip leg day.’_ The unbidden thought had Stiles biting back a giggle. And like the fact that Peter was wearing briefs. _Tighty-whities,_ in fact, which should have been such a goddamn _old guy_ thing but - on Peter - it was just _hot._ Unfairly so, in fact.

But most of Stiles’ thoughts were caught up on the black ink marring the outside of that gorgeously muscled thigh with a name.

_Stiles_

Messy, scrawling, and entirely _his._

His, in a way he’d never imagined seeing on someone. His, because it was more his name than _Mścisław_ had _ever_ been and it was his handwriting, and it was just..._perfect._ In every way.

He was trembling, just a little, as he moved close enough to let his fingers brush over the letters. Peter was watching him with heated eyes, but Stiles didn’t care. He was too focused to care. He sank down to his knees, leaning in and brushing his lips over the ink that told the world - _the universe _\- that Peter Hale belonged _to him._ It was funny, because he’d been willing to live with whatever name was inked onto the man he loved; had been willing to ignore it - and the ink on his own skin - if it meant he could keep the man standing in front of him.

And he had absolutely been willing to do that.

But actually seeing the proof that Peter was _his _did funny things to his insides. Made them go soft and warm and squirmy, but in a good way.

He rested his forehead against Peter’s thigh, eyes practically crossing so he could keep looking at his name, and murmured. “I love you.”

“Are you telling me, or my thigh?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, raising his head to grin at Peter. “I was telling your dick, actually.”

Peter snorted, rolling his eyes, but a soft smile was curving his lips. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve traced the letters of your name, darling?”

“Way more than I’ve traced the letters of yours.” Stiles guessed, entirely honestly.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Was that a dig at my age?”

“Actually, no.” Stiles admitted, laughing again. He sat down on the floor, grinning up at Peter as he explained. “Your name isn’t exactly someplace I can reach easily. Hell, I can’t even _see it_ without a mirror and some contortions. When I was little, I begged my mom to take a picture of it for me and I used to carry it around the house in a little heart-shaped frame she bought for me.”

Peter’s whole face softened and he looked like he wanted to say _awww,_ so Stiles hastily continued before he could. “Then when I hit middle school - with gym locker rooms and all - I _hated_ it because Jackson Whittemore and his jock-squad used to make fun of me for it. In high school I decided I liked it again, but like...yeah. It’s been kind of an up-and-down thing.”

And Peter repeated Stiles’ words back to him, almost hesitantly; as though he were half-afraid Stiles would say _no; _as if that were even possible. “Can I see it?”

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, but shrugged as he got back to his feet. “I mean, sure. If you want to, why not?” He shrugged out of his plaid overshirt, dropping it to the floor as Peter stepped out of his jeans, kicking them away.

Stiles was kind of amused - and kind of impressed - at how Peter managed to look sexy standing there in a V-neck henley and white briefs. He was also kind of thrilled, because _he’d tapped that._ And, if this went anything like Stiles had always imagined it would when he’d daydreamed - _fantasized_ \- about showing his Soul-Match his Mark, he was going to get to tap it again. Very, _very_ soon. With that thought in mind, Stiles tugged his graphic t-shirt over his head, not caring in the least as he let the fabric slip from his fingers to land somewhere in the vicinity of his feet, near his other shirt. He took a shaky breath, then slowly turned around so that his back was to Peter.

Then, he waited.

~*~*~*~

Peter’s eyes traced the mole-dotted skin of Stiles’ shoulders and upper back. He followed the slim line of the teen’s spine down, down, _down..._until they finally lit on the smooth expanse of skin nestled between the dimples that were set just above the curve of Stiles’ pert little ass. Which was to say, just above the waistband of Stiles’ jeans...and the boxers peeking out over the top of them.

And there, on that pale, pale skin...was his name.

_Peter_

It was _lovely._ It was twirls, and loops, and swirls, because Peter had learned to sign his name with one hell of a flourish at a very young age and he’d never quite broken the habit of writing it that same way. Talia always called him _pretentious_ whenever she saw it, but he didn’t care; not at all. _Couldn't_ care, when he saw the gorgeous way the black looked against Stiles’ fair skin.

A growl rumbled up from his chest and Stiles turned to look at him over his shoulder, eyes so wide he looked like a startled deer. Peter was moving before he even realized he was going to.

Stiles yelped as Peter manhandled him a few feet to the side, then _pushed._

“Geez, Peter, you could just _ask me to move.”_ Stiles griped, but he’d obligingly bent himself at the waist, leaning over the arm of the sofa. He shot Peter a slightly amused look, eyes dark with lust as he added breathily. “Guess you like how it looks, then?”

Peter growled again, eyes flashing. His gums itched as his fangs peeked out and he flexed fingers that were tipped with claws before carefully gripping Stiles’ hips, careful to keep the sharp tips firmly on the denim and _not_ near Stiles’ delicate skin. Stiles sucked in a stunned breath, his pulse racing, but he didn’t smell a thing like fear so Peter wasn’t worried. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the small of Stiles’ back, just at the center of the Mark.

Then, starting just where he would if he were signing his name, Peter used the tip of his tongue to trace every line and dip and swirl and twist and curve of his own name. Stiles was squirming under him as gasping breaths shuddered passed his lips, but it was nothing at all for Peter to hold him still. And when he’d finished tracing the letters, he scraped his fangs - carefully; _so carefully_ \- over the entirety of the Mark, before nuzzling gently into that skin.

Stiles’ scent had gone liquid-slick and hot around the edges; spicy and sweet and _perfect._ He was panting, and still shifting restlessly, and Peter delighted in it. In knowing that _he_ had caused Stiles to smell that way; so deliciously appealing that it took everything in him not to sink his teeth into the teen, right then and there.

Instead, Peter straightened up, pulling Stiles with him. He spun the teen quickly, then caught his mouth in a fierce kiss, licking into his mouth almost immediately. Stiles welcomed him with a moan, arms going around Peter’s neck as he pressed himself snugly to Peter’s body, grinding forward with desperate little motions. Peter grabbed his hips again, then slid his hands further back to cup that sweet little ass, encouraging Stiles to move just a little faster; teasing them both with the not-quite-enough pressure and friction of the whole thing.

After a few moments, Stiles tore his mouth away, demanding hoarsely. “Bedroom. _Now.”_

Peter chuckled darkly, but obligingly scooped Stiles up into his arms. “As you wish, darling.” He strode quickly towards the bedroom, adding softly. “I plan to fuck you this time, Stiles. Objections?”

“Not one.” Stiles assured him, though the words were a little muffled because Stiles had started mouthing along the line of Peter’s jaw.

As he followed Stiles down onto his bed, Peter couldn't help thinking that the universe had clearly known what it was doing when it had given him Stiles. He would have defied everything to keep this boy, but knowing that Stiles had been hand-chosen for him only made that fact sweeter. And now that he had seen his name inked across the younger man’s skin, Peter could no longer begrudge the many years he’d had to wait to find him. Stiles had most assuredly been worth the wait.

_**~ Fin ~**_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked it; leave me a little love in the comments. They are my life's blood.
> 
> ~ Sly


End file.
